


The Smell of You

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Canon-typical bathing, Come Eating, Established Relationship, Licking, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Scent Kink, Scenting, Snowballing, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: While Jaskier would never admit it, Geralt actually gave in to his demands quite often. With a scowl and muttered “fuck,” but he did it. He stopped at inns when Jaskier wanted to rest but Geralt wanted to keep going; he let them linger at rivers so Jaskier could take a nice long bath even when he, himself was finished; and he let Jaskier steer their pleasure whichever way the bard desired.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 1026





	The Smell of You

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine. If you spot one, pop it into a comment and it'll be taken care of. Enjoy!

Clean

While Jaskier would never admit it, Geralt actually gave in to his demands quite often. With a scowl and muttered “fuck,” but he did it. He stopped at inns when Jaskier wanted to rest but Geralt wanted to keep going; he let them linger at rivers so Jaskier could take a nice long bath even when he, himself was finished; and he let Jaskier steer their pleasure whichever way the bard desired.

That last one probably came from the fact that Geralt's desires were far simpler (cock in hole, ass or mouth, didn't matter) and Jaskier had clear preferences. For one, he liked Geralt _clean_.

When they had enough coin for a good inn with a good bath, Jaskier liked to make a night of it. Sweet smelling soaps worked into a lather, bath oils and salts to smooth rough Witcher skin. For anyone else, getting pampered under Jaskier's skilled hands would be a pleasure, for Geralt, it was a chore.

He sat in the large tub, his head back, nearly asleep as Jaskier washed his hair for the third time. It felt nice, those strong fingers scratching his scalp, rubbing in all the right places, but Jaskier promised sex hours ago. After a bath. And a scrub. And maybe a massage. Jaskier might enjoy the lavender and lemon grass smells wafting through their room, but it all put Geralt to sleep, which was the opposite of sex.

Jaskier rinsed his hair one last time and stood up. Geralt opened his eyes before Jaskier noticed he was almost asleep. “Let's dry you off,” Jaskier whispered.

“Thank fuck,” Geralt muttered. He got out of the tub and waited patiently for Jaskier. In the old days, he'd just grab the towel and do it himself, but Jaskier wanted to finish the production. So he let him dry his shoulders, arms, stomach, ass. Jaskier even took an extra long minute to squeeze the excess water from Geralt's hair, leaving it damp, but not dripping.

With Geralt sufficiently dry, Jaskier steered them over to the bed, placing kisses all over his sweet-smelling Witcher, everywhere except the spots Geralt most wanted him to touch.

Starting at his feet, Jaskier kissed his ankles, massaging calves and toes (which Geralt actually loved, but would never admit) before making his way up and trailing kisses on the inside of Geralt's thighs. He got so close then, Geralt had to ball his hands into fists to keep from grabbing Jaskier's head and putting it where he really wanted.

Nudging his legs apart, Jaskier buried his nose in the bend of Geralt's hip, where thigh met cock. The deep inhale next to his balls—air tickling but not touching _enough_ —almost drove Geralt mad. “See?” Jaskier whispered into his skin, licking the side of his sac too lightly to satisfy. “With all that dirt gone, I smell you, and only you.” He inhaled again, savoring the pure masculine smell that poured off Geralt.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed through his teeth.

Jaskier pretended not to hear and went about his business. Skirting right past Geralt's cock, he kissed and licked his hips and stomach, placing little nipping bites in the most sensitive spots. He trailed his tongue along well defined muscles, and lightly bit at two very interested nipples. Geralt groaned again and Jaskier filed that information away to employ later.

He nuzzled his whole face into Geralt's armpit. The skin there was extraordinarily soft and he never got to enjoy it, not with all the traveling, the sweat, blood, and too much armor blocking it. But now, with Geralt as squeaky clean as Jaskier could manage, he spent a full thirty seconds with that precious area, softer than the highest noble lady's cheek.

After what felt like forever, Jaskier finally made it up to Geralt's lips. Before Jaskier got distracted with his nose or neck or something, Geralt cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. Jaskier's tongue licked into Geralt's mouth, exploring everything on offer.

“Mmm,” he moaned. “You taste amazing.” The words were muffled by Geralt's teeth gently biting his bottom lip. “So strong. Like blood, and combat, and—”

“All the things you just washed off me?”

Jaskier frowned. “I'm being poetic.”

“Can we fuck while you're being poetic?”

“Of course.”

“Fucking finally.”

Geralt grabbed the oil he secreted under the pillow before Jaskier ordered him into the bath, and dripped some over his cock. Before he had a chance to touch his cock to spread the oil, Jaskier batted his hand away.

Geralt let out a pained groan. “Jaskier, come on!”

Finally, _finally_ , Jaskier's fingers wrapped around his cock, lightly stroking. It was all Geralt could do to not levitate off the bed. There was making a show of sex, and then there was whatever Jaskier was doing to him. For a split second, Geralt started going over the recent days in his head, trying to find the moment he pissed Jaskier off enough to torture him like this.

He was so busy trying to find the source of Jaskier's possible ill will, Geralt didn't notice Jaskier's movements until he sank down on his cock. “Mmm, fuck,” he groaned, hands latching on to slim hips.

“Have I ever left you wanting before?” Jaskier asked. He rolled his hips, quickly finding a rhythm that pleased them both. Jaskier's breath came harder, faster, and Geralt's toes curled into the sheets. “I like to make a night of it... when we... when we get a chance.”

“Fine.” Geralt was done caring about Jaskier's method. He had a tight grip on Jaskier, the surprisingly strong muscles of his legs squeezing Geralt enough to steal his breath, and he no longer cared how they reached this point, just that they arrived. A low moan built in his chest and he held on tighter.

Geralt's skin sang at each point of contact. Jaskier's hands on his shoulders, lips pressed against him, his body wrapped around his cock. He felt like he was vibrating as Jaskier moved on top of him, pushing him higher, and higher... Jaskier shifted his hips and gasped at the way Geralt's cock moved inside him, like they were made for each other.

Now that he had Jaskier where he wanted him, Geralt wasn't about to let him slip away. He wrapped his hands around Jaskier's hips, holding him in place, and thrust up into that tight body. His stamina far surpassed his human partners and Geralt had long ago learned to find his pleasure quickly, add in Jaskier's marathon bath and massage, he was already hovering on the edge. A few more good thrusts should do it...

Geralt loosened his grip on Jaskier to free up one hand to stroke the other man's cock. He realized his mistake half a second too late. His hips now free, Jaskier managed to shake himself loose, climbing off entirely, leaving Geralt feeling empty and cold. Warm skin soon returned and Jaskier plunged down again, still straddling Geralt, but turned away this time.

He peered over his shoulder and Geralt did not like the devilish glint in his eye. Still rolling his hips, Jaskier leaned forward ever so, moving Geralt's cock inside him, pulling it a little too far to be comfortable. “Hell, Jaskier,” he grunted.

“You thought we were done?”

The new angle on his cock wasn't painful (far from it) but the unnatural bend placed more pressure and Geralt felt his orgasm getting farther away. Jaskier leaned back again, then forward, keeping them on the edge. Now, all Geralt could do was hold on for the ride.

“There...” Jaskier adjusted again, giving Geralt some relief. “Now you've learned your lesson. My pace or none at all.” His stomach went taut, the lithe muscles there doing a lot of work to hold the position. He rolled his hips once, twice, and Geralt groaned, thrusting up and spilling inside Jaskier.

Jaskier moaned, one hand jerking his cock, the other leaned back on Geralt's hip for stability. His hips stuttered through his orgasm and when it was all over, he bent forward like his strings had been cut.

Carefully climbing off, Jaskier cleaned himself up before retrieving a damp cloth for Geralt. True, most of the mess ended up on Jaskier this time, but he just spent ages cleaning Geralt from nose to toes, he wasn't about to spoil all his hard work so soon.

Both sated and exhausted, Jaskier settled on Geralt's chest to sleep. “You're going to be sore tomorrow,” Geralt mumbled, eyes falling closed, one protective arm around Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged. “No more than usual.”

He chuckled. “Not your ass. Your stomach. That was a hell of a back bend. I didn't think you had the muscle to do it.”

“There are a lot of things you don't know about me. Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight.” Geralt placed a small kiss on top of Jaskier's head, taking a moment to breathe in the clean scent clinging to his skin. It didn't smell like Jaskier, but... it wasn't terrible. He could get used to it.

Dirty

When they met again on the road after parting for whatever reason, those were the moments when Geralt had his way. It didn't matter if they were apart for a day or a month, as soon as he saw Jaskier, dusty and sweaty from travel, Geralt had one thing on his mind.

“Geralt, no—ah!” Jaskier yelped when Geralt launched himself at the bard, pinning him to the dirt. “Geralt! You don't know where I've been!”

“I'm finding that out now.”

It had been about three weeks since they last saw each other. Jaskier had a booking for a lord's annual feast, and Geralt found a contract in the opposite direction. This happened often enough that neither really cared. They'd find each other again, they always did. And Geralt's favorite part of meeting up again was discovering what Jaskier had done during the time away.

He didn't ask questions, oh no. It wasn't his style, besides, reading Jaskier's scent was much more entertaining.

It was a warm day and Jaskier had already opened his doublet, easy to access his neck. He hated when Geralt ripped at his clothes and he did try to avoid that... most of the time. He pressed his face into Jaskier's sweaty neck, inhaling deeply.

Smoke, wood, and the lingering stench of wine spilled across Jaskier's shirt. And under that, more fragrant smoke (better tobacco, probably from the feast) and pig fat. Hay and horses under that—barn accommodations were never Jaskier's favorite—and the last touch of his sweet perfumes, so light and delicate under all that delicious filth, Geralt actually appreciated their part of Jaskier's overall scent.

He licked a long stripe from Jaskier's collar bone to behind his ear, savoring the salty tang of sweat, the earthiness of dirt, and the smell of last night's dinner.

Jaskier moaned under him, thrusting his hips, needy for more contact. “Geralt, fuck...”

“Mmm, if you don't want anything ripped, I'd start untying now,” Geralt mumbled into his skin. He'd get there in his own time but for the moment, he was still enjoying the clues Jaskier's neck and chest had to offer him.

Jaskier's hands muscled their way between them and started unlacing his breeches, then he toed off his shoes as best as he could, kicking them away. He tangled his hands in Geralt's hair, freeing it from the tie so it all fell around their faces like a curtain. It was the only privacy they'd get (here, on the side of the road, their tent still in Roach's saddle bags).

Geralt let Jaskier's hips stutter and thrust against him, he wasn't quite there yet, he was still enjoying Jaskier's scent. Another trace of oil behind his ear, different though, not fragrant, more... cosmetic. Some drunk noble woman pressing her over rouged face against Jaskier, begging him to warm her bed for the night, an invitation he never took anymore. He licked over Jaskier's adam's apple, enjoying the slight stubble against his tongue and the delicious moans it pulled out of Jaskier.

Layer after layer of scent, Geralt knew it all. How many miles Jaskier had to walk before a farmer's cart picked him up in trade for a song, how much ale Jaskier drank last night, how many different inns he'd stayed at, how many times he'd bathed... on and on and on, endless smells and information for Geralt to devour with his lips against Jaskier's skin.

Licking the other side of Jaskier's neck, he savored the salty sweat he found there, licking and nipping until it was gone. Where Jaskier liked to wash away Geralt's natural musk, the Witcher reveled in it. After their first meeting, he could track Jaskier for a few days before losing the trail. When Jaskier had been with him for a month, Geralt could smell him across a deep forest. The first time they fucked, Geralt could follow Jaskier across time itself. He never tired of that smell—wood and rosin, a hint of lavender, and a curl of wood pulp paper. The smell of a bard, _his_ bard.

Jaskier's neck thoroughly explored, Geralt pulled back enough to strip Jaskier's doublet and undershirt, leaving him bare chested in the dirt.

Jaskier yelped when Geralt pushed his arm back, shoving his nose in Jaskier's armpit. Yes, he knew he did the same thing, but after a bath it was, well, more sanitary. “Ah! Geralt! I've been walking for days!”

“Three days,” Geralt mumbled into the skin. “Slept in a barn before that.” He continued downwards, rubbing his nose along the trail of hair that traveled from Jaskier's chest to his cock.

Between the woosh of Geralt's breath over his skin and the light, tickling slide of his nose, Jaskier wiggled, his belly quivering. “Geralt, please...”

Geralt yanked open Jaskier's breeches, pulling them down to his mid-thigh and finally freeing his cock. He pressed his face into Jaskier's balls, licking over them, all the way up to Jaskier's hip. The sweat pooled here was the most fragrant, held the most information. “You haven't touched yourself for two days,” he mumbled into soft skin.

“I-I told ya, you,” Jaskier's voice trembled, the sensation both too much and not enough at the same time. “Been walking. Wanted to-to get back to you.”

A contented rumble vibrated through Geralt's chest. He wanted to explore more, smell more, but Jaskier's shakes as he tried to keep still were too endearing to ignore. “I'm glad you're back,” Geralt whispered, just soft enough that, maybe, Jaskier didn't hear him...

He opened his mouth and swallowed Jaskier to the root, his nose diving into the tangle of pubic hair as his tongue lapped at the day's sweat clinging to Jaskier's skin.

Jaskier cried out and tried to thrust into Geralt's mouth, but his breeches halfway down his legs caged him in. With Geralt's strong hands wrapped around him, holding him in place, and his clothing binding him, Jaskier was very much at the Witcher's mercy.

That sinful tongue snaked around his cock, lashing at the head, mouth retreating for a moment to lick his balls before engulfing him again. It didn't take long to drive Jaskier to madness, especially when he was already mostly there.

“Uh, uh, I'm, oh... fuck.”

Geralt let the first spurt of Jaskier's come cover his tongue before pulling back. His hand pumping Jaskier's cock, he watched white streaks cover the bard's stomach. Jaskier's hips stuttered one last time and Geralt leaned over him, kissing him deeply, pressing his own spend into his mouth. Their saliva mixed with the sticky seed, painting their lips and intensifying the most essential piece of Jaskier's musk.

Jaskier moaned and bucked again, totally wrung out. He collapsed back onto the ground, his eyes glazed. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

Jaskier was too sensitive right now, Geralt knew full well... but he couldn't resist. Leaning his head down again, he licked up the come covering his stomach, dipping his tongue into Jaskier's navel, collecting the last few drops, and the last unexplored scent. Though Jaskier twitched, over-sensitized by the earlier treatment, he let Geralt go, which he appreciated. He pressed a kiss to the small pudge gathered under his navel before pulling away.

Geralt took one last deep inhale from Jaskier's neck before standing. “I'll set up camp, then we can say hello again properly.”

“Oh yes,” Jaskier said, “because that wasn't thorough enough.” Geralt buzzed around him, unpacking their things, setting up the tent, and Jaskier laid on the dirty ground like a lump. After a minute, he managed to pull his breeches back up, tuck himself away, and stagger over to a tree. Leaning against the trunk, he had a perfect view of Geralt's ass as he moved around the camp.

“Is there any point in telling you what's happened to me the past few weeks?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shrugged. “If you want.”

“What I want...” Jaskier thought for a moment. “Is to pass flat out. Wake me for dinner.”

Geralt chuckled to himself and watched Jaskier close his eyes. He'd be up and around in a bit, then he'd insist on a bath in the river before Geralt got anywhere near his body again. While Geralt might like Jaskier with a bit of filth on him, he wasn't completely opposed to the bard's preferences. He camped them by a river for a reason.

Mmm, the idea of getting his hands on Jaskier's chilled, dripping skin made Geralt's mind start to wander. He hoped Jaskier didn't nap too long.

The End


End file.
